


the poetry of heaven

by McEnchilada



Category: Father Brown (2013)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Stargazing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 04:40:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15598488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McEnchilada/pseuds/McEnchilada
Summary: Father Brown and Flambeau take a walk together in the dark.





	the poetry of heaven

“--so I knew it couldn’t have been Nora who put the ad in the newspaper, which left only Willis,” Father Brown wrapped up his convoluted explanation of the latest case he’d solved for Kembleford’s bumbling constabulary. His voice was sober and his eyes sad, as befit a recounting of a nasty murder, but he couldn’t entirely hide the small smile of satisfaction at the puzzle he’d unraveled.

Flambeau shook his head in astonishment. “I don’t believe you could have guessed all of that from a beer bottle. The wife must have told you something.”

“Only the part about the encyclopedia,” Brown promised. The priest must of course be immune to a failing as human as pride, but Flambeau believed he saw a blush at the praise that Flambeau’s wondering tone implied. The dark of the night would keep it a secret, at least, except between the two of them. “The rest was just a matter of knowing all the facts.”

“‘Just’?” Flambeau laughed incredulously, the sound seeming to hover in the warm night air. “It’s no wonder Mallory has no patience with you. Have you considered a change of careers? You’d have him out of the job in a fortnight.”

Brown’s smile widened, but he made no reply. Bucephalus trundled along between them, wheels clicking quietly over the gravel path that would eventually bring them to the back garden of the presbytery. If he’d ridden the bicycle, instead of matching Flambeau’s pace, he’d have been home half an hour ago. For that matter, Flambeau could have departed a mile back and already arrived at the cottage he was renting, instead of lengthening his trip to see the priest to his door. But neither of them mentioned it. It was a mild night in the early summer, and who would complain about having a companion? Neither of them had pressing engagements so late at night, and neither had anyone they’d prefer to be walking beside.

Flambeau brushed aside a lilac branch that extended over the path at the level of his head. Its last, late flowers let go at his touch, releasing their sweet fragrance and settling in his hair. Father Brown’s eyes crinkled happily at the sight. Flambeau brushed them off, choosing not to tell Brown about the blossoms that stuck in his own hair, left bare by the hat perched on the bicycle’s seat.

“There’s Orion,” Flambeau noted, his hand falling from his head to point up at the sky to his left. Truth be told, he could only ever recall the three stars of his belt; his legs, shoulders, and club were up there somewhere, but he’d have a hard time finding them, or the scorpion he was hunting.

Brown followed his finger, then pointed up at a different corner of the sky to where five stars formed a sort of elongated W. “Cassiopeia.”

“Doomed to eternity upside down,” Flambeau recollected, from a story he hadn’t heard since he was a child.

“And Ursa Major,” added Brown, turning around to look up at the stars behind them. The great bear twinkled on a backdrop of deep sapphire and, nearby, Polaris marked its smaller match. Flambeau pointed it out, but Brown frowned, unseeing. “I can never find it.”

“Here, look.” Flambeau skirted the bicycle to stand behind him, placing a hand on the priest’s shoulder to better guide him. 

This one, he knew. He’d dreamed of being a pirate, once. He couldn’t imagine a world farther from his village than the high sea, or an occupation that would better serve the nobody son of a dead no one. He thought he would go wherever he chose, navigating by the sea and the stars, with no company but the waves and the whales. In the end, he’d found himself content with the opportunities offered on land, but he’d never quite forgotten how to find his way.

Brown turned his head to look at him, but Flambeau stretched his arm over Brown’s other shoulder and pointed skyward. Brown obediently turned back to follow the line of his hand. Flambeau spoke quietly into Brown’s ear, gesturing as he did: “Those two, the corners of his body. Dubhe and Merak. Trace a line between them, and follow it up...there. The north star.”

Flambeau could only see the side of Brown’s face, but he was familiar enough with it to recognize the beatific little smile he wore, just from the corner of his mouth.

“Magnificent,” he breathed. His eyes moved from Ursa Minor, taking in the whole blanket of stars looking down on Kembleford. Probably Flambeau could lower his arm now that his guidance wasn’t necessary. Probably he could take a step back. But moving would disrupt the moment, so he lingered, close behind Brown, one hand uselessly extended towards heaven. Nearby, a nightjar chirped over the sound of crickets. Flambeau thought he could still smell the lilac blossoms in Brown's hair.

At last, Brown had had his fill of stargazing. He turned back up the path, seeming to have forgotten how close Flambeau was standing. For just a moment they were chest to chest, Flambeau’s arms almost around Brown’s shoulders, in almost an embrace.

Flambeau took a step back, and put his hands in his trouser pockets. He returned to his place on the other side of Bucephalus. They continued up the path.

**Author's Note:**

> Set sometime after season six; Flambeau has chosen to start his new life in Kembleford.
> 
> This was going to be the beginning of a longer work, but the tone ended up different than I was going for and it just felt finished here.
> 
> Astronomy is based on my own amateur observations. Title is from Lord Byron.


End file.
